I remember something important. I unzip my suitcase, rummaging for my Polaroid camera. When I find it, I jump up and take a picture of us together. I hand it to him.

“It’s not fair that I’ll have all these pictures of us, and you’ll have nothing.”

“I won’t have nothing,” he amends, smiling. “I’ll have the memory.”

“And our contract.” I squeeze his shoulder, but I can already feel our bodies growing apart. Like we’re strangers again. “You’ll have that, too.”

He rolls his eyes. “Let’s hope I don’t wank on it to death the first week you’re gone.”

I laugh and glance at the napkin in question, relieved that it’s an inanimate object, but it’s a mirthless kind of laugh.

He takes my face in his hands and kisses me so deeply I lose balance. His heart is beating so fast and hard, it sounds like it could tear his chest open. Maybe, I think desperately, it should. I want to snatch it and take it with me—somewhere Kathleen won’t be able to get to it.

We disconnect slowly, like we’re glued together.

“Don’t be with Kathleen.” I look up at his face, whispering, “She doesn’t kill you.”

That Bukowski quote pops into my head: “Find what you love and let it kill you.” I think I just did.

“I won’t. Don’t be with a stupid, shiny guy with boiled balls. You were born for greatness, Princess.”

“I won’t.” I smile.

He lifts my chin with his finger so our eyes lock and says, “Ask me again.”

I don’t need clarification on this. I know. I know because I feel it, too, and it cracks my resolve. I press my palm against his chest, monitoring his heartbeat.

“Have you ever been in love?” I can’t swallow the emotions lodging in my throat.

He grins down at me. “Goodbye, Rory.”

My eyes flare, but I grin. “Bastard!”

“What?” He laughs.

I laugh, too. This time it’s a real laugh. We both needed this, I realize. An icebreaker.

“Why did you tell me to ask you this if the answer is no?”

“I didn’t say the answer is no.” He runs his hands along my arms. “But if I admitted it to you, I’d admit it to myself. Then I’d have to look for you, and that’d be a breach of contract. You have to understand, Rory, next time I see you, I’ll have you. I won’t care if you have a boyfriend, or a husband, or a harem of men vying for your love. If you have children, I’ll raise them as mine. So, I guess an apology is in order.”

“For what?” I blink.

He turns to leave. I’m not ready to say goodbye, but I know I never will be.